


Prisons Can't Stop Us

by maychorian



Series: Bars Can't Hold Us [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queerplatonic Hance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 10:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10332290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maychorian/pseuds/maychorian
Summary: They took turns being messed up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was reading [The Ballad of a Dove](https://archiveofourown.org/series/502723) today and it put me in the mood to write torture aftermath, so I did this. It's more of an epilogue than a sequel. Or maybe a prologue to the sequel. Anyway, it's not much of a story, more a collection of things that happen, or, like, headcanons of my own fic. But I wanted to write it, so here it is. I might or might not add to this later.

They took turns being messed up. They tried to do it one at a time. It didn't always work out. 

Hunk was the strongest, which wasn't a huge surprise. Not only had his experience on Malkord been arguably the mildest, but Hunk was just strong, anyway. Always had been. Stronger than he knew, stronger than anyone else knew. He weathered the storm like a standing rock, tall and firm and immovable. Every single day, there he was, smiling and cheerful, cooking like a madman, hugging Keith and kissing Lance on the forehead and cheek and hand. Ruffling Pidge's hair, leaning on Shiro's shoulder, laughing at Coran's jokes, listening to Allura's plans and adding his own innovations. Hunk was good, always. Every day.

Nighttime was a different matter. The boys had pulled a couple of spare mattresses into Hunk's room and made a nest on the floor, and they slept there almost every night, unless Keith or Lance felt the need to take a break and slept in his own room for a night or two. Hunk never needed the break. He always needed someone there. He slept in the middle, Lance and Keith on either side. Lance never wore his headphones at night anymore, never bothered with the eyemask. Keith was a light sleeper, anyway, but Lance learned to be. They had to be ready for the nightmares.

The nightmares didn't come every night, but often enough to require constant vigilance. Hunk slept so deeply that he could never wake himself up, no matter how bad it got. He would start to sweat, to shift and moan, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Sometimes he growled low in his throat as if he was fighting something, powerful biceps bunching as he grappled in his dream. If Keith and Lance were sleeping a little too deeply and didn't catch it in time, it could get really bad. If they didn't catch it in time, waking Hunk up and calming him afterward was a monumental struggle.

Those nights still happened once in a while, and the day after all three of them would be exhausted and dragging, eyes bruised and bodies trembling. The others tried to accommodate them on such days, but sometimes they didn't have a choice. Sometimes there was a distress beacon, or a battle, or a mission they couldn't put off. Sometimes forming Voltron was a chore instead of the pleasure it used to be. They got through it, but it wasn't fun. So Keith and Lance did their best to wake up in time.

As long as one of them woke in time, it wasn't too hard to deal with. Keith or Lance would take Hunk's hand, murmur in his ear, stroke his hair. Hunk would wake with a start, sweating and shaking, tears streaming from his eyes. "I can't remember," he murmured sometimes. "But I know it hurt." Or sometimes, "You were dead. I thought you were dead, and you were, you were gone, you were gone." Or sometimes, "There was so much blood. I couldn't make it stop."

He cried. Keith or Lance or both together held him. It was all they could do. The fell asleep again, curled around each other protectively, tears drying on their faces, hands and limbs entangled. In the morning they felt as refreshed as they possibly could, and they went on with their days.

Lance got migraines. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. Sometimes an intensive mental training session would set one off, so the group had decided to limit those. Sometimes spending too much time as Voltron, or talking to Blue, seemed to be a trigger. They couldn't control the need for Voltron, and Lance couldn't stomach the idea of limiting his time with Blue, so those couldn't be helped. And sometimes they just came out of nowhere, so there didn't seem to be much point in trying to mitigate it, anyway.

They were awful. Debilitating. The healing pod didn't help. The first time Lance got that horrible, ringing pain in his head, when the light started to burn his eyes and his stomach started trying to eat itself from the inside out, the team rushed him to a pod. But he moaned and trembled in his sleep, brain activity spiking higher and higher, and the pod released him before more damage was done. The pod didn't help. It only seemed to make it worse.

The only thing he could do was go to a dark room, alone, and curl up in a ball and wait for it to pass. Touch and voice made it worse, so no one could comfort him, which was probably the most awful thing about it. Lance didn't like being alone, never had, but he had to deal with this one on his own. Everyone hated it. Sometimes Keith or Hunk would wait in the hall outside, Keith usually pacing, Hunk usually sitting patiently against the wall. As soon as Lance's voice croaked from within, telling them it was okay, they would rush in to be with him.

Sometimes other duties pulled them away. Sometimes Shiro or Pidge or Coran or Allura was there instead. Sometimes it lasted so long that Lance told them all to leave and let him deal with it, and when it was over he dragged himself out as soon as he had the strength, looking like death, and hunted down a hug. He didn't tell anyone, but he couldn't even stand Blue's presence in his head when it got like that. That was the part he hated the most. His lion had always been a soothing figure in his life, but even she couldn't help with this.

Keith was hypervigilant. He had always been high-strung, but now it was much, much worse. He startled at loud noises, walked the perimeter of every room he entered with a stalking gait, and sat with his back to the wall and his eyes on the exits. He couldn't sleep outside the castle. He fought with an edge he'd never had before, even at his youngest and most reckless. Sometimes even Hunk and Lance couldn't hold him back, and Shiro had all but stopped trying.

Keith didn't like to be touched. He'd never been a fan, but now he flinched from it. Hunk and Lance were okay. They were inside his defenses already. They could hold him and pat him and kiss his hair. But with anyone else, he tensed up and endured until the touch ended, and everyone could see how hard he was breathing.

Even Shiro was not immune to this. He came the closest outside of Lance and Hunk, but he didn't have their privileges, not anymore. Shiro tried not to take it personally. He knew what it was like to be instinctively, unthinkingly afraid. He knew what it was like to shrink from situations and touches that had once been familiar and comforting. But it still stung, every time. Keith was especially sensitive to being touched on his head or face, so Shiro no longer ruffled his hair, no longer patted his cheek. If he reached for Keith's shoulder, he made sure Keith could see it coming and only rested there for a few seconds. Hugs were side-arm, short, and rare. It hurt, but Shiro would take what Keith could give him.

Some days were better than others. Sometimes Keith leaned back into Shiro's hand on his arm, just a little. Sometimes he fell asleep with his head in Pidge's lap when they were all cuddling on the couches, though he never stayed asleep for long. Sometimes he rested his head on Coran's back, or sat next to Allura without being asked. But most of the time he stuck with Hunk and Lance. He even hid behind them when he got too overwhelmed. They accepted this with good humor, sometimes gently teasing their "baby" for wanting to stay home with them, usually simply standing there with silent protection and steadfast love.

Some days were better than others. Some days Hunk didn't have a nightmare, and Lance didn't get a migraine, and Keith didn't feel too oppressed by the weight of everything. Sometimes forming Voltron was as easy as breathing, and they took out the enemy with a joyful shout from five different throats. Some days they laughed and sang and ate and enjoyed each other's company. Maybe one day in five was this good, and all of them held on to these days when they came with a white-knuckled grip.

Hunk and Keith and Lance tried to take turns being messed up. When one faltered, the other two carried him, supported by everyone else in the castle. When Hunk was teary and shaken into the daylight, when Lance had to hide away to smother his pain in a pillow, when Keith's eyes were wild and his movements were restless and he couldn't stop remembering a hand on his face and a smooth, silky voice that seemed to pierce to his marrow. They did their best to only be that messed up one at a time.

But it didn't always work out. The good days and almost-good days outnumbered the really bad ones, but the bad ones still came. Sometimes Hunk couldn't sleep. Sometimes Lance's headache clung to him like an evil parasite, draining his strength and goodwill and everything, everything. Sometimes Keith couldn't deal with it anymore, and he had to protect himself the only way he could, by retreating into Hunk and Lance's company and snarling at anyone else who came close. Sometimes it all happened at once, and it didn't stop happening, and all they could do was hide and lick their wounds and tell themselves and each other that it was okay, it would be okay soon, it would have to, it couldn't stay this bad, it just couldn't.

Pidge cried, those days, angry and helpless. Shiro did too, only slightly less obviously, though his tears were more sad than angry. Allura was grim, reminding herself constantly that it would be immoral to return to a planet they had already dealt with and rain down fire indiscriminately from above. Coran prepared for the boys to emerge, making tea and hot packs and anything else he could think of. They all would rather have been in Hunk's room, offering anything they could, but on those days the three boys could only accept comfort and company from each other.

So they all held on to the good days, and they all endured the bad days, and the war continued.


End file.
